


The End of It All

by writingshipper



Series: Supernatural: The End [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Sad Ending, ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingshipper/pseuds/writingshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are Sam and Dean going to do after what has happened? (Sequel to "The Last Chance".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of It All

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello! We meet again! So apparently my brain decided that it was unsatisfied with where the last ficlet left off and came up with this!  
> 
> 
> This work was inspired by someone's SPN ending. Whoever you are, thanks for nothing. It's probably better if you read the previous instalment to understand this one. I'm indebted to Alex and Sketchy who betaed this work.  
> 
> 
> Here's to hoping that this segment will hurt you more than the last. May SPN end on an unhappy, or at least bittersweet, note.
> 
> P.S. Reviews are always welcome.

Sam was still getting chills as he drove the Impala, even minutes after he received the call. He'd never heard his brother speak with that tone before. The way that Dean had said his nickname, “Sammy...”, had been unlike anything that he'd ever heard. It had been bone-numbingly empty. Of course Sam had seen Dean lose hope before, like when Dad had died and when he’d been about to jump into the pit, but this was another level altogether. It was like Dean had no more reasons to exist.

Sam saw the huddled thing in the distance and he slammed his foot on the brake pedal. The Impala screeched her protest as she skidded to a stop. Sam’s heart jumped to his throat and pulsed there, creating an odd, uncomfortable sensation that made swallowing difficult. He exited the car and slammed the door. He knew in his heart what that thing was, from the moment that he saw it. But he had to make sure, just in case it was a dream.

But to see it up close was another thing entirely. And it broke Sam's heart. Cas lay motionless in Dean's arms, with that cursed Blade sticking out of his ribs. His head was tucked into Dean's body, and the coat was spread over the ground like broken wings. Dean’s head was bowed, and he was rocking backwards and forwards as if in a trance. His flannel was marked with blood, in both flecks and one sickeningly-huge stain.

Dean looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching, and Sam's heart ached at the sight. Dean's eyes were demon-black, but tear tracks stained his cheeks. Sam had seen Dean turning off those eyes at will, but he guessed that they appeared when Dean's emotions were fluctuating, too.

“It's all my fault, Sammy,” Dean whispered. There it was again. That soulless voice. In another demon it would sound cruel, but on Dean it was heart-rending. “I killed him. He's dead.”

Nothing could comfort Dean now, but Sam had to try. “You didn’t plan for this, Dean. I told him that staying with you was putting his own life in danger, but he still chose – “

“Don't you dare blame him for this!” Dean roared. He clutched the body tighter. “I knew – _knew_ – that this Mark was poison. That someone whom I… That someone close who was to me would die. But I still took it. God help me; I took it. All in the name of defeating evil. And now…”

“You thought that you were doing the right thing, Dean. And he knew that.”

“No!” Dean's voice cracked. “He'd still be alive if it weren't for me! He could've been happy without me! He should've left me alone! But he… He was so stupid, the son of a bitch.” Dean finally succumbed to sobs. His shoulders quaked and his deep voice was reedy with the same pain that Sam had felt when he lost Jess.

“Let's go back to the bunker,” Sam suggested finally, because he could think of nothing else to say. Dean didn't respond. Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder cautiously, in case he decided to lash out, but Dean did nothing. “Dean? Let's go to – “

“Colorado.”

“What?”

“Colorado.” Dean looked dead-set upon the destination. “That's where he said that he left his clothes behind. We have to get them back for him.”

“All right,” Sam said cautiously. He had no idea what state of mind that Dean was in, considering that the destination was a good three states away, but wasn't about to argue when he was in this dangerous of a mood.

*

Five days later the Winchesters were in the Men of Letters bunker. Sam was reading a book in the main room when he heard footsteps. He looked up and saw Dean. He was wearing clean clothes and his hair was wet, but hadn't shaved his lengthening beard off. His eyes had returned back to green, but the dead expression hadn't gone away.

“I'm going out on a job,” he announced.

“I'm coming with you,” Sam said immediately, closing his book and standing up.

An eyebrow twitched with irritation. “I don't need a babysitter, Sam. I'm the big brother here – ”

“Wouldn't you get the job done faster if I helped you?” Sam cut in, then wondered if his interruption would lead to a broken bone.

Dean seemed to consider his point. “Fair enough,” he conceded.

“But you’re to stay in my sight at all times,” Sam warned.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on. Let's go before the sun goes down and I make more dumb decisions.”

Sam had an idea of what Dean meant but he wasn't about to ask to confirm it. The brothers went outside and Sam noticed that Dean took extra care to lock the bunker securely.

“Look for long and thin branches,” Dean instructed and walked away, and suddenly Sam understood what Dean wanted to do. And although he was glad that Dean was doing the right thing, it still hurt.

Dean looked back. “Hurry up! It’s getting late!” he barked, before setting off into the forest. Sam pulled himself together and went after his brother.

It took them a little under an hour to collect their items, by which time the sun had almost disappeared under the horizon. Sam's feet and back were aching and his flannel was soaked with sweat as he walked back to the bunker, but he felt satisfied with his work. He hoped that it was enough for Dean, too.

Dean surveyed his younger brother's handiwork and nodded. “Get the salt, matches and gas,” he said as he and Sam left their items near the entrance.

Surprised that Dean would let him near his car unsupervised, Sam went into the garage where they kept the Impala. He unlocked the trunk and took note of the devil's trap on the underside as he did so. He grabbed what he needed with ease and went back outside. All the while his heart was breaking more for his brother, who must face the destruction of his best friend, and who was as good as his soulmate, at his own hands, in a way.

A few minutes later Dean emerged from the underground building. He carried Cas's body in his arms, bridal style. The limbs dangled and the head lolled without any support. The blood had been cleaned up, and the original trench coat, suit and tie were back on, exactly as they were when they met him for the first time. Dean's face was set into a stony expression. The evening sky was a beautiful backdrop behind them, like a scene from a cheesy TV show. Except that this time it was real. Their loss was real.

Dean approached Sam wordlessly. He hid his pain well, but the younger brother still felt it. It was something that he himself had been through, and now it was Dean's turn. It was a cruel poetic justice.

“Dean – “ Sam began.

“Don't,” Dean interrupted. He lay Cas down on the ground ever so gently. He straightened the trenchcoat and tie and smoothed the matted hair off of his forehead. Cas looked so peaceful, almost like a sleeping child.

“I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you, Cas,” Dean whispered. As the hunter kneeled down and pressed his lips to the ex-angel's, Sam saw his face crumple.

“So it’s finally come to fruition,” Sam said.

Dean snorted unattractively, without real mirth. “Yeah. When it was too late.” He stood up, took the salt and shook it over Cas's body. Sam followed with the reeking gasoline, soaking the trench coat. Assembling the branches took the two brothers about fifteen minutes, which passed in absolute silence.

Dean lit a single matchstick after a few faltering scrapes against the box. He held it up to his face, and Sam saw the light illuminate it. The black eyes had returned, and they were reflecting the fire like ominous mirrors. Dean flicked the match, and flames swallowed up the pyre immediately like a starving man who’d gone for days without food.

Sam closed his eyes. Though he hadn't prayed for a long time, and he didn’t even know who was listening anymore, he wished for Cas to be at peace. He hoped that Cas would return to a restored Heaven where he belonged. He asked for Cas to watch over Dean when he wasn't around, to guide his brother into the light and to help him to find his inner peace. And he thanked Cas for the friendship that they shared, as brief as it had been.

Sam opened his eyes and glanced at Dean. The older Winchester was staring into the fire, but Sam could tell that his mind wasn't there. Sam thought about the happiness that Cas could've given Dean, the relationship that they might’ve had. Cas had seen Dean at his worst but was still able to see the best in him. Cas had known just how to make Dean laugh when he cried. For his part, Dean had never seen Cas as a deus ex machina, a tool to get himself out of situations. He had seen Cas as an equal, a friend. Though they were from different worlds, he’d understood Cas as no one else could have. And now their chance was lost. Sam wondered if this was the payback that they deserved for being heroes.

*

“No, Dean!” Sam cried.

Dean’s gun was pointed at a bound female vampire. The Winchesters had been interrogating her for information about her nest and her companions' behaviour. Her clothes were torn and ragged; her curly hair was a mess and she was bruised and bloody with the torture that Dean had inflicted on her. They already had everything that they needed, but now Dean was ready to shoot her.

“Please don't kill me!” she begged. “I gave you what you need! And I wasn’t hurting anyone!”

“Dean! Snap out of it,” Sam exclaimed.

Dean’s jaw clenched and his lips twitched. His gun trembled, as if the hand were unsure about putting it down or not. Then there was a loud bang and blood poured out from the centre of the girl's forehead. She slumped to the side.

“Oh, God,” Sam sighed, turning away.

“Shut it, Sam, or you're next,” Dean snarled, pointing the gun towards his brother. Sam raised his arms in surrender.

“Torch her,” Dean said, walking out of the tiny cabin. As Sam scrambled for his lighter, he noticed Dean looking back at the slaughter that he'd committed before slamming the door behind him.

*

“Sam...”

Sam looked up. Dean was standing there, and he looked haunted and gaunt. Sam's heart went out to him. Dean was in more pain than ever before. After closing himself off for so long, he'd taken the risk of opening his heart, and Fate had only ripped it into smithereens.

“Yes, Dean?” Sam asked gently.

“Follow me.” Dean turned on his heels and walked off. Sam scrambled from his chair and it fell backwards with an echoing crash. But he paid no mind, as he rushed after his big brother, as always rushing to please him and fulfil his requests.

“Dean, what’s up?” Sam asked, but Dean didn't reply. He just continued leading Sam through the bunker's corridors. On and on they went, and Sam noticed that they were heading into the dungeons.

“Seriously, dude, what's going on?” Sam persisted.

“Please don't talk, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “I'm trying to work up my nerve here.”

“Just stop... I'm asking you, just this once.”

“Oookay...” Sam trailed off, wary but deciding to trust his brother. Soon they were in the underground library. Dean walked briskly through the bookshelves, towards the tiny chamber with the devil's trap.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam asked, but Dean only fiddled with the secret handles. There were creaks as the shelves moved. Dean strode through and Sam suddenly had a flash of understanding.

“Dean, no!” he cried and grabbed his brother.

“Get off of me, Sam!”

“Are you seriously - ”

“It’s for the best!”

“There are other ways - ”

Dean shoved Sam off and the latter landed on his elbows, grunting in pain. Through his eyelashes he saw Dean take a deep breath and walk into the intricately-designed circle.

“Dammit, Dean!” Sam scrambled and plunged his hand into his pocket to look for his knife, but Dean's rough hands landed on his shoulders with a gentler force than he expected.

“Please don't, Sammy,” he breathed. “I want this.”

Sam choked on his tears. “You don't have to do this, Dean! We can – !“

“No. They're only temporary solutions. This will finish it once and for all.”

“Cas wouldn't want you to do this!”

Dean's face darkened. “This isn't about Cas. I want to put an end to all of this.”

“Dean...” Sam couldn't hold back the hot tears.

“I tortured and killed an innocent vamp, Sam,” Dean intoned. “She was a creature, but I was the monster. I wanted any justification in snuffing out her life. That's not what a hunter should be. And I almost killed you. If I did that, then what kind of brother would I be? Abel and Cain were enough the first time around.

“I thought that getting rid of the Mark would cure me, but I was wrong. This way I can stay in Hell forever and not cause any more trouble. Especially for you. I crushed your apple pie life when I asked you to come with me, Sam. It's time that I give it back to you. Dad said to kill you if I couldn't save you, but... He was wrong. This is what I gotta do to make you happy. So, find a girl, or a guy, who can accept who you are. Make pretty babies, or adopt some, whichever. And you can have all of the dogs that you want, and take all of the college classes that you can handle, okay? Just... Don't forget me.”

“Dean...” Sam moaned. It felt like his heart were being squeezed by a steel fist.

“So will you do it?” Sam noticed that Dean was giving him the choice.

Hating himself, Sam inclined his head.

“That's my boy,” Dean said. He wiped Sam's tears away like he used to do when they were kids, and clapped him on the back and stood up. Sam swayed as he rose to his feet.

“Come on, Sammy! Chop chop!” Though Dean was clearly devastated, his face was plastered with his typical, give-‘em-Hell grin. He didn't want for his brother to be any sadder than he already was. “I don't have all day here!”

Sam tried to open his mouth, but it was like his lips were jammed with superglue.

Dean's smile faded. “Sam...?” he prompted.

“I can't,” Sam choked.

“Yes, you can. You know the words. You just have to recite them.”

“I can't!”

“Sam... Do it. Before I lose my nerve.” Dean was starting to sweat.

Sam shook his head, in contrast to his agreement.

“Maybe this’ll help.” There was a flicking sound and Dean's eyes reverted to black. That seemed to do the trick. Sam stood up straighter, a reflex reaction.

“Come on, Sam. You've done this before. I'm just another demon, ain't I?”

Sam wished that there were someone, anyone, whom he could call. He didn't want to be the one to send his own brother to Hell. It would tear at his conscience, no matter what conflicts they’d had in the past.

“Sammy... Please...” Dean's face was shining and his neckline was wet.

“Please.” The single word was abrupt and brisk.

“ _Exorcizamus te..._ ”

As Sam intoned the chant out of habit, his hands shook. He clenched them so hard that his nails cut into his palms. Dean tried to smile but his black eyes were huge with fear.

Sam's voice wavered, but he carried on. He could remember Dean running to catch the ball that Bobby tossed. He saw Dean frowning in concentration as he aimed for glass bottles, John at his side. And there were Dean and Cas, exchanging their looks, both full of love and admiration for each other.

“... _facias libertate servire, te rogamus_...” Sam halted. The next two words were everything. He looked through blurry eyes at Dean, who was wearing the same peaceful smile that Cas had in his death. Dean had accepted his fate, no matter what it was. And for some reason it gave Sam comfort, even if it was only a small amount.

“Goodbye, Sammy,” he said.

“... _audi nos_.”

The scream was even worse than he imagined. It was like being carved into by blunt knives. Dean's head was thrown back and thick black smoke was gushing out of his mouth. It was a sight that Sam had seen a thousand times, but for some reason this one was draining his insides. And the sound of agony was one that would haunt his nightmares forever.

It went on and on, and each second was cutting Sam deeper. He tried clapping his hands over his ears but it was no use. He squeezed his shut eyes but it only made the noise seem louder. The wind was flapping his and Dean's clothes in the small room like a focused tornado.

Finally the noise stopped and Dean's body started to collapse. Sam leaped forward to catch it. He sank onto the floor with him, grieving for The Righteous Man, his best friend against all odds, and, most of all, his only brother. Dean's mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes were blown wide, empty and unseeing.


End file.
